


Who We Are in the End

by tastewithouttalent



Series: Past and Future [2]
Category: Sekai-ichi Hatsukoi
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Developing Relationship, Hand Jobs, Inline with canon, Love Confessions, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Past Relationship(s), Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-06
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-05-20 17:44:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19381639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Ritsu’s eyes are wide, his mouth soft and trembling on uncertainty, but his lashes dip when Masamune leans in towards him, and when Masamune’s mouth presses to his Ritsu’s lips soften to fit against his own without need for any more demand than the contact alone." Once Masamune gives his heart away, he doesn't take it back.





	1. Rosy

It’s very quiet in the library.

The windows along the far wall are open, pulled wide to let the springtime breeze rustle the curtains and carry stray sakura petals in to drift across the tables and over the tops of the bookshelves. With the breeze comes occasional murmurs of sound, bursts of laughter or voices pitched high enough to carry the brightest points of speech into the heights of the library itself. But the speakers are distant, too far off for the details of their words to prove any kind of a distraction, and the awareness of others is a distant thought when Masamune has the luxury of such present privacy for himself and his partner.

Ritsu is quiet too. He hardly speaks when Masamune is around, except to offer the blurting confessions that seem to spill from him more on impulse than intent, and he’s even quieter now, with self-consciousness at their present position flushing at his cheeks and stifling whatever notes of heat might spill from his throat in answer to the persuasion of Masamune’s touch against him. But he didn’t push Masamune away, in spite of his initial concerns of the propriety of their location, and when Masamune urged him down to sit at the floor in front of the rows of waist-high bookshelves he gave way at once, only reaching to brace himself against Masamune’s arms as the other lowered them to the floor. Ritsu’s eyes are wide, his mouth soft and trembling on uncertainty, but his lashes dip when Masamune leans in towards him, and when Masamune’s mouth presses to his Ritsu’s lips soften to fit against his own without need for any more demand than the contact alone. Masamune kisses against Ritsu’s mouth, lingering for a long moment while Ritsu’s breathing comes fast against his cheek and Ritsu’s grip flutters against his arms, and when he finally parts his lips to urge his tongue to Ritsu’s mouth there’s only a moment of hesitation before Ritsu lets his jaw ease and offers the heat of his mouth for Masamune’s taking.

Masamune loves kissing Ritsu. There’s a pleasure to the way Ritsu feels against him, tense with shock as if he can’t quite believe what’s happening, as if the fact of Masamune wanting to kiss him is still too much of an impossibility for him to bear; but the greater part is just appreciation in Masamune himself, the pleasure of Ritsu’s lips on his and the taste of Ritsu’s mouth against his tongue. Masamune’s whole body goes hot when he kisses Ritsu, when he so much as thinks about kissing Ritsu, as if he’s already anticipating the surge of desire that inevitably courses through him as soon as his lips find the other’s, and with the library door locked and the lights dimmed to let the soft illumination of the springtime outside play over them, Masamune has no need to hold himself back from the indulgence Ritsu is begging for with every tremor of his fingers and catching inhale of his breathing.

Masamune’s unfastens Ritsu’s pants one-handed so he can keep his bracing hold against the side of the other’s head to steady him against the force of Masamune’s mouth at his. Ritsu tenses as Masamune’s fingers press to the front of his uniform pants, his fingers flex to grip tight against their hold at the sleeves of the other’s jacket, but he doesn’t whimper any kind of a protest against the other’s lips, and when Masamune draws the front of his pants open he finds Ritsu already hard before Masamune has even pressed his grip in against the other’s length. Ritsu’s back arches as Masamune’s fingers curl around him to stroke along the length of his cock, his heel dragging against the floor in pursuit of purchase, but when he turns his head up the part of his lips makes a greater offering of his mouth, and Masamune can feel answering heat swelling the other hotter against the grip of his fingers. Masamune tightens his hold on Ritsu, bracing his fingers into place as he rocks himself closer, and when he strokes up over the other his lips catch the note of pleasure in Ritsu’s throat to no more than the heat of sound humming over Masamune’s tongue.

Masamune keeps them like they are for a long moment. The curtains are ruffling over the tops of their heads, the breeze blowing past them scattering occasional petals over his hair and Ritsu’s, and for the first span of time there’s a satisfaction just to feeling the way Ritsu trembles against him, the way his fingers flex and his legs shudder involuntarily against the floor as Masamune jerks him off. Masamune thinks about staying like this, about drawing back so he can fix his attention on Ritsu’s flushed face and heat-parted lips and watch the tide of orgasm rise and break over the other before him; but his own cock is aching, throbbing with heat to answer each of Ritsu’s reflexive shudders, and Masamune doesn’t know how to be anything but selfish when it comes to Ritsu. He wants him, wants to see him and hold him and have him all at once, and so when he pulls back it’s to loosen his hold on Ritsu’s length so he can reach under the angle of the other’s hips instead.

Ritsu clutches at Masamune’s neck as the other hitches him up off the floor, the heel of his soft indoor shoe sliding across the smooth surface as he reaches for traction, but he doesn’t need it; Masamune is pressing in closer before Ritsu has caught his balance, sliding his knees in under Ritsu’s thighs so he can draw the other in onto his lap and brace Ritsu’s open legs at either side of his hips. Ritsu’s hand at Masamune’s neck tightens for purchase against him before coming up to curl into his hair; Masamune lets him reach for the contact without protest as he ducks his head so he can watch his fingers as he unfastens the front of his own pants with efficient haste. Ritsu catches a breath as Masamune draws his cock free, his knees tilting in to brace tight against the other’s hips, but Masamune keeps his head down as he angles his legs wider to shift himself lower to the floor. He lowers his hand from Ritsu’s hair to the small of the other’s back to urge Ritsu in closer against him, and he keeps holding him there, steadying their bodies close together as he fits a hand between them. His fingers catch around Ritsu’s length, his thumb hooks around the strain of his own, and when he tightens his grip it is to draw them close together to press his own arousal flush to Ritsu’s before he begins to stroke them towards pleasure together.

Masamune can feel Ritsu respond at once to the friction pressing them against each other. Ritsu’s back arches, his fingers tighten, his lips part; but he’s held close by Masamune’s grip against his cock as much as the brace of the other’s hand at his back, and the reflexive heat that shudders through him only urges Masamune on to greater speed and further force. Ritsu’s thighs quiver, tightening at Masamune’s hips before going slack with surrender, and when Masamune’s grip slides up to grind his palm against the head of the other’s cock Ritsu’s head tips forward, his shoulders curving as if he means to give himself up to Masamune’s keeping. Masamune slides his hand up higher, fitting his palm to the dip between Ritsu’s shoulderblades to hold the other still, and when he moves it’s with greater intent to his motion, urging the pleasure coursing through Ritsu to new peaks in time with the tension of his own arousal building heat within him. 

Ritsu is hard against his palm, hot against his own length, the two of them pressed tight together by Masamune’s grip until Masamune can’t tell the strain of his own pleasure from the tremor of Ritsu’s. They’re joined by his hold, their breathing drawn taut together by each stroke of his palm until Masamune can’t tell which of them he’s hearing in the humid heat of the air between their bodies. Ritsu’s shoulders have curved in, his head is ducked down as if seeking the support of Masamune’s body; his lashes are dark over his eyes, his expression melting into the slack heat of arousal as he pants for air and clutches at the support of Masamune’s body. Masamune’s heart is pounding in his chest, thudding so hard he’s sure Ritsu must be able to hear it echoing in his ears along with the rasp of their joined breathing, but he doesn’t ease his hold or slow his motion, only gives in to more of the friction as his body tightens with anticipation. Ritsu is shaking against him, held steady by Masamune’s hold and dragging desperate lungfuls of air as his cock flushes hotter and harder against the resistance of Masamune’s fingers, and Masamune can feel his balls tightening at the base of his cock with the premonition of release. 

He tightens his grip, sliding his thumb up to brace against his shaft as the angle of his hold draws up to urge Ritsu’s length close against his own, and tension clenches tight in his chest, stalling his breathing with tight-winding anticipation. He takes another stroke, pulling up with more haste than grace, and his breath spills from him, rushing to a groan past the set of his teeth as his cock pulses to heat over the grip of his fingers holding himself and Ritsu close together. Ritsu catches at an inhale, sounding startled by his own breathing, and his thighs flex with reflexive tension as his own orgasm follows so close on the heels of Masamune’s they seem to be formed of the same wave of sensation breaking over the pair of them together. Ritsu’s hand clutches at Masamune’s hair, his head tips forward to brace at Masamune’s shoulder, and Masamune shuts his eyes and lets the shuddering gasps in Ritsu’s throat guide the motion of his hold urging them past the first strain of heat and into the languid aftershocks of pleasure. Ritsu’s tension gives way, his hand easing at Masamune’s neck and his shoulders slumping heavy under their own weight as he pants for breath, and Masamune tightens his hold on Ritsu in turn to urge the other’s weight pressing close against the span of his chest.

They will need to clean themselves up in a few minutes, wiping Masamune’s fingers clean and settling clothes back into place before someone finds good enough reason to try the library door and wonder at it being closed. Even this much privacy is an indulgence, a piece of good luck better respected than tested. But Masamune is warm with pleasure, all the tension in his body spent for warm-flushed cheeks and the surrender of soft lips, and for the first span of satisfaction he just lifts his arm closer around Ritsu to hold the other in against him. Ritsu lifts his arms in turn, loosening his grip on sleeve and hair so he can wind his hold around Masamune’s neck without lifting his head from the other’s shoulder. His breathing is quivering, shaky with the same heat Masamune is sure is coloring across his cheeks; he still is trembling, as if the aftershocks of pleasure haven’t yet fully released their hold on him. Masamune listens to the sound of Ritsu’s breathing, feels the rhythm of the other’s heart pounding hard against the span of his chest, and then he turns his head to press his cheek to Ritsu’s head, and he lets the springtime breeze ruffle the strands of their hair together.


	2. Reminiscent

Masamune hadn’t thought he would ever hear Ritsu call him  _ senpai _ again.

It’s been too long. Years have formed a chasm between them to finish the work miscommunication and insecurity began, until even Masamune’s determination has begun to falter. He knows how he feels, how he has felt all this time, no matter what or who he used trying to overcome the influence of a few short weeks with a boy who looked at him with stars in his eyes and breathless adoration on his lips; but Ritsu has been so savage in his rejection, so consistent in his frustration, that Masamune had begun to wonder if he didn’t imagine those flickers of softness in the other’s expression that seem to offer themselves in moments of exhaustion or particular focus. He knows what he saw, is sure in what he felt on those few occasions he pressed his mouth to the give of Ritsu’s and felt surrender in the shape of the other’s lips; but his dream of a confession, of seeing that same melting softness in Ritsu’s face that was once there when they were in high school, has become so distant he thought it might never take shape as anything more than a memory.

It’s not a memory now. Ritsu’s lashes are wet with a storm of tears, his breathing is hiccuping in his chest as he struggles over the title that carries such warmth at his lips; but it’s not the slim lines of his underclassman beneath Masamune’s body now, any more than the shirt he’s stripping free of Ritsu’s chest is the dark weight of a uniform jacket. Ritsu is an adult, the same sharp-eyed and sharper-tongued man who Masamune sits across from in the office through all the long hours of their work; but all his sharp edges are melted away, given up to trembling fingers and tear-damp lashes and a mouth that seems to beg for the weight of Masamune’s lips even as Ritsu gasps a breath to speak.

“I missed you,” he blurts, speaking as Masamune pulls to drag his shirt over his head and free of Ritsu’s unresisting arms. Ritsu is lying flat on the bed beneath him, dropped to sprawl where Masamune carried him after his collapse on the living room floor; he lifts his hands as soon as Masamune has stripped his shirt free from him, his fingers reaching up to touch against the other’s shirt with the same tentative uncertainty that Masamune remembers so vividly from high school. Ritsu was always afraid to touch him, as if he was expecting rejection, as if Masamune’s whole body doesn’t come alight for even the featherlight weight of Ritsu’s fingertips ghosting over his shirt; the years haven’t changed that either, it seems, as Ritsu’s lashes dip and his gaze wanders over his hands at Masamune’s chest as if he can’t believe the chance he’s been granted in being allowed to occupy the same space as Masamune. “I missed you so much, senpai.”

“Me too,” Masamune says, and reaches to press his hand over Ritsu’s to urge the other’s touch in against him. Ritsu’s breath catches in his throat, his fingers tighten at Masamune’s body; Masamune can feel his heart ache with pressure, as if the simple fact of Ritsu’s palm at him is enough to bring all the heat in his blood surging under the surface of his skin. He presses his lips together and swallows to clear his throat, but when he speaks his tone still holds to the rough edge that is enough to prove the force of his arousal, if Ritsu knows to listen for it. “Touch me too, Ritsu.”

Ritsu’s lashes flutter. “Yes, senpai,” he says, and then Masamune leans in towards him, and Ritsu turns his chin up and shuts his eyes in expectation of the weight of the other’s mouth pressing against his own. His lips are soft, his mouth open even before Masamune urges for surrender, and that’s a change that Masamune is happy to take from the ten years they have been apart. He turns his head to urge in deeper, opens his mouth wider to press his tongue past Ritsu’s lips, and Ritsu capitulates instantly to give up the heat of his mouth for Masamune’s taking. The taste of beer clings to his tongue, bitter at the back of Masamune’s throat and intoxicating against the heat of Ritsu’s breathing, but Masamune just licks farther into Ritsu’s mouth, until all he can taste at the other’s lips is the effect of his own.

Ritsu makes little progress with Masamune’s shirt. By the time the other draws back he’s fumbled open three buttons, two in a row and one far down by the hem; he ducks his head to frown concentration at what he’s doing as Masamune pulls away to lean over him instead. Masamune doesn’t mind; it’s easy enough to lift his hand to unfasten the remaining buttons to leave his shirt hanging open over his chest, and it’s worth it to see the expression on Ritsu’s face relax into warmth for the first moment of appreciation. His hands hover in midair for a moment, hesitant to cross the distance again, but he moves before Masamune can urge him to it, reaching out to press his fingertips to the span of Masamune’s bare chest over him. Masamune groans at the heat of it, at the feel of Ritsu’s hands against his body where he has too long relied on distant memory, and as Ritsu’s cheeks flush his hands press closer, sliding up and around to trail across the shape of Masamune’s body like he’s learning it all over again, like he’s memorizing the form with the texture of his fingerprints. Masamune lets a breath go, ducking his head with the first force of pleasure that rushes through him at the feel of Ritsu’s hands at him, and then he shifts his weight to brace himself so he can reach down and undo the fastenings on Ritsu’s remaining clothing.

Masamune can feel how hard Ritsu is even before he’s really touched him. Ritsu’s arousal was audible in the sound of his breathing in the living room and flushing hot all across his skin as soon as Masamune kissed him; even over the short distance from the living room to the bed, Ritsu’s hips pressed close enough to Masamune’s thigh to make the fact of his desire abundantly clear. There’s still a difference to feeling and touching, a gap between being aware of Ritsu’s desire and pressing his fingers in against the heat of the other’s length; and it’s something else again, to have Ritsu’s clothes falling open to Masamune’s touch to lay him bare for sight as much as feeling. Masamune tips his head down as he gets Ritsu’s pants open, casting his gaze to find the dark flush of the other’s cock straining on the tension of desire towards the trembling flat of his stomach, and for a moment it’s all he can do to keep his breath in his lungs and keep himself braced up over Ritsu beneath him. He wants to press his palm to Ritsu’s length, wants to wrap his fingers around the other’s cock and pull up over him until Ritsu comes with a sob of Masamune’s name on his lips; he wants to strip Ritsu of his clothing to pull back the barriers that have been too long between them so he can fit his hips between those trembling thighs and sink himself into the grip of Ritsu’s body the way he has dreamed of for all these long years apart. Masamune stares for a moment, breathless and flushed and too undone by his own arousal to move; and then fingers slide over his chest, a hand presses along his stomach, and Ritsu pulls against the waistband of Masamune’s pants with clumsy fingers.

“You too,” he says. When Masamune looks up Ritsu’s lashes are dark over his eyes, his expression softened by the flush of heat on his cheeks and his lips red and hot with the friction of Masamune’s mouth against them. His teeth catch at his lower lip; his fingers curl to tug at Masamune’s clothes. “Please, senpai, I want you.”

Masamune’s whole body flushes hot at those words at Ritsu’s lips, the simple sincerity of them turned to unbearable eroticism by comparison with the other’s usual cold reserve. He exhales hard, his breath flexing to a groan in his chest, and he’s leaning in at once to crush his mouth to Ritsu’s just to stifle whatever additional excess the other might be about to spill to speech. Ritsu shuts his eyes at once, his lashes falling as his lips part, and as Masamune urges his tongue into the heat of the other’s mouth he reaches down to fumble open the fly of his own pants in turn. His clothes come open, his pants slide free, and he pulls back from Ritsu for a moment, leaving the other to pant for air against the sheets while Masamune rocks back to shrug off his open shirt and kick his pants free over the edge of the bed. Ritsu’s pants are next, stripped from the length of his legs by Masamune’s grip, and for a moment Masamune appreciates the fact of this, of Ritsu sprawled naked over his bed with the whole of his body flushed pink and hot with arousal. His cock throbs, his balls aching with desire a decade in the making, and when Ritsu blinks and tips his head to look Masamune is turning away to reach over the edge of the bed for the lube tucked beneath it. He slicks his fingers fast, urgent with the force of desire pulsing through him, and when he turns back Ritsu spreads his legs without waiting to be asked. His thighs tip wide, his hands lift to reach out, and Masamune leans in, made as helpless by Ritsu’s surrender as he was by the break of emotion on the other’s voice.

Ritsu is tight to the touch, his body holding close to its heat against the intrusion of Masamune’s fingers. Masamune has to work against Ritsu’s entrance for a long moment, forming a persuasion of the work of his hand and the weight of his mouth against Ritsu’s. But Ritsu keeps his knees open, and his arms wound around Masamune’s neck, and when Masamune finally is able to stroke a finger up and into him Ritsu only shudders once beneath him before going slack and heavy with capitulation. Masamune braces his elbow against the bed over Ritsu’s head, and slides his fingers to gentle affection in Ritsu’s hair, and as he kisses Ritsu into comfort he eases him with the work of his fingers too, stretching him open until the tension of hurt has given way to warmth, until his touch is working in steady-slow strokes up into the give of the other’s body. Ritsu is whimpering against Masamune’s lips, soft wordless sounds that fix a knot of unbearable desire at the base of the other’s spine, until finally Masamune has to slide his fingers free and draw back from Ritsu’s kiss-softened mouth so he can fit his knees between the other’s thighs in place of his hand. Ritsu tilts his legs wider at once, sliding his feet up over the bed so his knees can bracket Masamune’s hips, and when Masamune sets his free hand to Ritsu’s waist to steady him Ritsu’s fingers urge against the back of his neck to wind into his hair as if to brace the other in place.

Masamune brings his gaze up from the shadows between them, raising his attention from Ritsu’s body to his face to find Ritsu gazing up at him, his eyes wide and clear of anything but the childlike wonder that shone from his expression when Masamune last took him amidst a tangle of bedsheets. His cheeks are dark with color, his breathing dragging to humidity as it spills past his lips, and his gaze on Masamune’s face is formed of a soft surrender that tightens near-pain in Masamune’s chest. Ritsu’s fingers slide into his hair, the corners of his eyes soften with affection, and when he says “Senpai” he sounds wondering, as if this might be a dream, as if he feels as lost in a fantasy as Masamune does.

Masamune swallows hard. “Ritsu,” he says, watching to see the way Ritsu’s lashes dip over his eyes, the way his mouth goes soft with shock; and then he rocks his hips forward, and he lets his cock sink home into the grip of Ritsu’s body around him. Ritsu’s eyes open wide, his gaze goes out-of-focus with the first force of friction, and Masamune leans in to cover Ritsu’s mouth with his own and taste the moan of the other’s breathing spilling heat against the back of his own throat.

The rhythm of moving together comes easy. Masamune remembers struggling with this, the first time, when inexperience and desperate want bucked his hips forward with careless haste to tense Ritsu’s shoulders with pain instead of pleasure, but he has learned some part of patience in the last ten years, and more of skill, and the work of his fingers has eased Ritsu far better than the minimal effort he offered their first night together. Masamune can stroke forward without resistance, can press himself fully within Ritsu with each action of his hips bearing him forward; and beneath him Ritsu is curving up to meet him, pleasure written into the curve of his spine and the flex of his fingers. His hands are pressing into Masamune’s hair, his fingers curling to brace the other close against him as if he fears Masamune’s retreat, as if Masamune has wished to be anywhere other than right here over all the years between them; as Masamune moves over him Ritsu’s heel comes up to press against his back, his leg straining to urge the other closer. His breathing is hot over Masamune’s mouth when Masamune breaks their kiss to pant for air for the strain in his chest; Ritsu’s lashes are heavy, his eyes shining with tears that have no part of pain in them. His body moves beneath Masamune’s, meeting and matching the other with every stroke Masamune takes, with each thrust bringing them together, until Masamune feels himself guided by the reply of Ritsu’s body to his own as much as by his own desire, until he can’t tell which of them is gasping harder for breath against the other’s mouth.

The air around them has gone hot, heavy with nostalgia and sweet with the immediacy of present pleasure, until Masamune can’t hold to the passing of time, until the distraction of their surroundings has faded from his attention. Everything is Ritsu, arching under him and clutching at his hair and gasping wordless heat to his shoulder, until the feel of Ritsu’s legs tightening at his hips knots heat into Masamune’s balls and throbs in his cock as if it’s anticipation of his own orgasm flexing into the heat of the other’s body. He pulls back by an inch to brace himself over Ritsu, to watch the expression on the other’s face as Ritsu’s gaze drifts out-of-focus over his shoulder and Ritsu’s fingers tighten to clutch against the fall of Masamune’s hair.

“Ritsu,” Masamune says, his voice low and hotter than he means it to be. Ritsu’s lashes flutter, his gaze skipping like he’s searching for the source of the voice over him from the haze of his rising arousal. “Hey, Ritsu.”

Ritsu blinks hard, his gaze coming into focus on Masamune’s face for a heartbeat. “Senpai,” he says, sounding startled, as if he’s only just realized the fact of who he’s with; and then Masamune’s hips come forward, and Ritsu’s eyes go wide, his focus giving way as his mouth comes open on heat. His legs tighten, his throat works, and his head drops back to bare the line of his throat straining on a moan as his cock spurts heat between the strain of his stomach and Masamune’s over him. Masamune feels Ritsu tighten around him, his body flexing through the waves of heat that have claimed his attention, and he groans in the back of his throat and presses his hand into Ritsu’s hair to brace the other steady as he tilts in to press his forehead to Ritsu’s trembling shoulder. His hips buck forward, his body seeking out its own satisfaction from the force of Ritsu’s own, and Masamune can feel his thoughts going hazy, his focus disintegrating as he gasps air from the line of Ritsu’s shoulder.

“Ritsu,” he says, and presses hard at Ritsu’s hip, his fingers tightening and his elbow coming in to pin Ritsu’s knee close against his side. “I love you.”

Ritsu is gasping, shuddering through breaths that come open into whimpers in his throat with each thrust Masamune takes into him; but his arm tightens around Masamune’s shoulder, his head tips in to press his lips to the other’s ear. “I love you,” he says, the words broken open on pleading heat, and Masamune shuts his eyes and thrusts forward as his body tenses with the force of his orgasm rushing through him. His shoulders strain, his cock pulses, and when he spends himself it’s with his lips at Ritsu’s skin and Ritsu’s voice echoing in his ears.

They are still afterwards, pressed against each other as close as their bodies can get them. Masamune can feel Ritsu trembling under him, quaking with the release of too-long held tension through his body; he feels as weak, as if he has spent all of his strength to bring himself to this point and all that is left is to collapse into the exhausted satisfaction that must follow. He thinks of pulling away, of extricating himself and freeing Ritsu from the weight of his body; but Ritsu’s fingers shift in his hair, and the leg looped around his hip flexes tighter, and when Ritsu breathes a sigh it carries all the sound of relief on it.

“Senpai,” he says, sounding drowsy and spent and blissful; and Masamune breathes out against Ritsu’s shoulder, and tightens his arm around the other’s waist as he lets the support of his arm go to drape him heavy against Ritsu’s body. He must be a weight, too much to bear with much comfort, but Ritsu just holds the tighter to him, as if anxious to keep him where he is, and Masamune can only press his face to the curve of Ritsu’s neck and surrender to this absolute persuasion.


	3. Yielding

Ritsu melts to Masamune’s touch.

He doesn’t mean to. He’s made that clear, in the brittle resistance he offers and the shrill protest he voices to any acknowledgment of what they were, of what they have been, even over all the years apart. But when Masamune’s fingers touch Ritsu: his hair, his face, his body; Ritsu gives way immediately, all the tight-wound tension in him easing as if it were never there at all. His skin flushes, his breathing catches, his lips part, and all that is left is for Masamune to lean in and take the surrender so readily offered.

The hours of late night have long since passed over into the earliest hours of the new day, well before any trace of the dawn is yet touching the sky outside. They spent their evening at the New Year’s party, smiling and socializing and offering polite greetings to near-strangers and colleagues they have only ever spoken to over the phone or via email, and with every hour that passed some of Ritsu’s self-defensive bitterness gave way, worn free by exhaustion and his efforts towards politeness. Masamune heard himself how far that stripped him, how close to honesty Ritsu was forced by the exertion of the day and the pressure offered by the girl who thinks herself his fiancée, whatever Ritsu’s own statements have been to that effect, and with the close of the day there was no more of a choice left to him than there was for Ritsu. He craves Ritsu, feels the ache of need deep down in the core of his being and with every beat of his heart; and when he reaches out to touch his fingers to Ritsu’s hair and stroke down against the back of the other’s neck, all Ritsu’s stiff-backed bitterness melts into pliant grace even before his lips have given way to the demand of Masamune’s against them.

Masamune is gentle with him. There’s no need for force, not with the whole weight of their shared history and unspoken awareness urging down against the both of them; and Ritsu gives way readily, toppling back to sprawl languid heat across the sheets of his bed and gaze heavy-lidded desire at the ceiling as Masamune works the tie of his coat and the buttons of his shirt free. His skin is hot before Masamune touches him, coaxed to radiance by no more than the press of Masamune’s mouth to forehead, lips, cheek, and when Masamune draws his touch down to work Ritsu’s belt open Ritsu offers not even token protest. His lashes dip, his cheeks flush, but when his lips part it’s a whimper in his throat, pleading with the desperation that Masamune has seen in the sideways cut of Ritsu’s gaze at the office, in the tilt of his head tipping back to trail the force of Masamune’s fingers ruffling through his hair. It’s not words, not the confession that Masamune aches for with a pressure that seems to have closed itself to a fist around his heart; but it’s an admission all the same, desire enough for Masamune’s own constant need to resonate with immediately-answering heat. Masamune watches Ritsu’s face, his gaze trailing the dark of lashes at the other’s cheek and the color staining his pale skin to the warmth of a flush, and he unfolds the barrier of the clothing between them with the sound of Ritsu’s heat-strained breathing for encouragement.

He doesn’t think of cold. It’s chilly outside, enough to merit the coat Ritsu was wearing even atop the layers of the suit he put on for the purposes of the party, but they are in Ritsu’s apartment, and the awareness of that intimacy is enough all alone to glow pleasure through Masamune’s body even without the persuasion of Ritsu stripped to bare skin and flushed want amidst the rumple of his clothes. Ritsu is hot to the touch, burning with arousal everywhere Masamune touches him, until he can’t resist the urge to lean in and press his mouth to whatever of Ritsu’s body catches his attention. The side of his shoulder, where tension collects over the course of too-long days and exhausting all-nighters; the curve of his throat, against the flutter of moans struggling to break free from the other’s restraint. Ritsu arches off the bed when Masamune’s lips touch his chest to leave their mark at the lowest curve of his ribs; he groans when Masamune urges the heat of a kiss to the edge of his hip while the weight of an arm over his chest holds Ritsu down and a fixed grip braces the other’s knee in place against the sheets. Masamune lifts his gaze for a moment to look up over the length of Ritsu’s body, to see the rhythm of breathing pulling overfast in the other’s chest and the fall of his hair tangling over the sheets where Masamune urged him, and then he draws his arm down the other’s chest, trailing his fingers to lingering appreciation as he moves to spread his fingers wide around the angle of Ritsu’s hip. Ritsu sucks in a sharp inhale at the pressure, his hand lifts from the bed to reach for a hold at Masamune’s hair, but he doesn’t pull to urge the other away as Masamune shifts to sprawl between Ritsu’s open thighs so he can lean in over the other’s hips. He steadies his thumbs at Ritsu’s skin, leaning close to pin the other beneath the force of his weight, before he parts his lips so he can reach out and drag his tongue up against the heat of Ritsu’s arousal.

Ritsu moans aloud, his voice breaking up against the friction of Masamune’s tongue sliding over him. His hips jerk, arcing through reflex to urge closer to the heat of the other’s mouth, but the motion is unformed and Masamune’s grip is braced against the action to keep Ritsu still against the bed while he takes the lead in drawing Ritsu farther back into the heat of his mouth. Masamune wants to savor the friction, wants to linger over the first decadent slide of bringing them together; but his own desire is too keen to allow for teasing. He presses closer as quickly as his lips part around the head of Ritsu’s cock, ducking his head in to pull Ritsu farther back within his mouth, and Ritsu sobs a breath of relief and loosens the desperate grip of his fingers fisted into Masamune’s hair. With this surrender Masamune can ease his bracing hold at Ritsu’s hip, can slide his hand up to flatten his palm to the flutter of heat along Ritsu’s stomach and linger there, tracking the shudders of pleasure through the other’s body under his fingertips as he wraps his lips close against Ritsu’s shaft and traces his tongue in over the aching head of the cock pressing deep into his mouth.

Ritsu makes no protest. His words are gone, given over to heavy lashes and soft lips that speak more clearly for Masamune’s understanding than the insincere distance he offers in the office; the heat in him is voice enough, certain and sure with every movement of Masamune’s lips over and against him. His throat tightens when Masamune sets his mouth to pull gentle suction over him; his breathing whimpers in time with the flex of his thighs when Masamune slides his tongue up against the full length of the other’s shaft. Masamune can feel the want in him, spent in the tremor of his legs and the taut flex of his stomach, and he draws Ritsu deep into his mouth to coax more from him, working his tongue and lips together to unravel the entrenched bitterness that has built such defenses around such a tender heart. Ritsu’s skin flushes, his self-control softening in time with his cock flushing hotter in Masamune’s mouth, until by the time his knees are quaking around Masamune’s shoulders Masamune can hear every breath the other takes, can parse the heat in Ritsu’s veins by the rasp on his inhales and the unspoken pleas on his exhales. Ritsu’s fingers are tangled into Masamune’s hair, both hands together winding through the locks with desperate need, and Masamune thinks he could stay like this forever, perfectly content to draw this truth from Ritsu with the persuasion of his lips pressing close against the other’s skin.

It doesn’t last forever, any more than Ritsu can. Masamune can feel that too, can hear it in the sound of Ritsu’s breathing and taste the sticky salt at his tongue as he moves to draw the anticipation long and aching, to pull away all the rough edges Ritsu has built and polish him back to the fragile, innocent devotion he once left bare to shine helpless adoration from behind his wide green eyes. The memory clenches at Masamune’s heart, glowing a warmth in him so keen he feels it as closer to pain than to pleasure, and his lips tighten around Ritsu’s length, his throat working on a pressure he can’t hold back. Beneath him Ritsu tenses, his back arching as his shoulders tip back to pull against his fists in Masamune’s hair, and Masamune’s attention is called back to the present by the immediacy of the other’s pleasure. He slides his hand across Ritsu’s stomach so he can brace his whole forearm over the other’s belly, and when he draws back in it’s to press his lips tight around the other’s length so he can suck over him as if demanding Ritsu’s orgasm from him. Ritsu’s knee slides wide, Ritsu’s breath catches over a pleading note, and then he’s coming, moaning a keening sound so desperate it’s nearly pained as he spills into Masamune’s waiting mouth. Masamune takes him, steadying Ritsu’s tremors beneath the weight of his arm as he swallows back the heat filling his mouth, and it’s only once Ritsu has collapsed to shudder against the bed that Masamune draws away to sit up and look at the other before him.

Ritsu is flushed to heat, every part of him that Masamune can see as rose-pink as the blush staining his cheeks. His head is turned against the sheets beneath him, his lashes as heavy as his breathing rushing past his lips, but he looks up as Masamune leans in over him, lifting his head to gaze up at the other. There’s no wall behind his eyes now, no tension at his mouth; he is soft, melting to welcome heat for no more than the weight of Masamune’s eyes on him. Masamune gazes at him for a moment, savoring the pleasure of this moment, of Ritsu looking up at him without any of his usual flinching attempt to hide the truth of emotion in his eyes, and then he leans down to kiss him. Ritsu’s lips part for him at once, capitulation as easy as if he has never known anything else but this, and Masamune shuts his eyes and loses himself in the pleasure of sinking deep into the heat of Ritsu’s mouth.

There is no struggle to fitting together, after that. Ritsu’s clothes are already stripped from his body, crumpled to wrinkle beneath him against the bed; when Masamune draws him up and away from the blankets Ritsu wraps his arms around the other’s shoulders, happy to hold them skin-close while Masamune pushes his clothes over the edge of the mattress to join the rest at the floor. Masamune’s own shirt is quickly unbuttoned and more quickly shed from his shoulders; his belt falls open to his fingers, his slacks sliding off his hips as rapidly as he can unfasten the button and draw the zipper down. He kicks free of his pants without looking to see where they fall; enough that he is left free to lean in and fit his body to the heat of Ritsu’s. Ritsu curves up to meet him, his back arching and hands pulling and legs spreading, and Masamune fits himself into the space Ritsu makes for him with a pressure in his chest that aches almost to tears in the back of his throat. He doesn’t try to speak, doesn’t try to force words to the exquisite satisfaction of being back here after the endless years of a decade apart; he lets his lips do the work for him, urging kiss after kiss to the curve of Ritsu’s throat before him while Ritsu’s fingers slide through his hair and Masamune reaches over the edge of the bed to find the bottle with which he can slick his fingers.

Ritsu is ready for the urging of Masamune’s touch, too. Masamune’s lips are pressing flushed heat to the pale skin of the other’s collarbone when he fits his fingers to Ritsu’s entrance, so he hears the soft sound Ritsu makes in the back of his throat, a note of breathless yielding as Masamune’s fingers slide into him. Masamune feels the sound down the whole of his spine, curving into his shoulders and swelling heat into the length of his cock; he strokes harder, reflex urging him to greater speed in spite of himself, but Ritsu gives way to that as easily, his body opening for Masamune’s touch like he was only waiting to be asked. His fingers tighten into Masamune’s hair as the other’s touch slides deeper to demand greater surrender from his body, but even then there’s no hurt in his voice, no protest even to the rasp of his breathing. All Masamune can hear is heat, collecting to tighten the sound of his inhales to panting speed, and Ritsu’s thighs are trembling around him again, tightening and easing in helpless answer to the work of Masamune’s touch stretching him open. His cock is soft against his hips, his arousal too recently spent to the persuasion of Masamune’s tongue against him, but his skin is still glowing radiant response to the friction of Masamune’s body, and when Masamune lifts his gaze Ritsu’s eyes are half-lidded with distracted pleasure. Masamune wonders if Ritsu has any idea how sultry he looks, how the color high at his cheeks and parting at his lips has haunted Masamune’s dreams waking and sleeping for all the years that have come between them; he wonders if Ritsu would believe him, if he told him. He says nothing, in any case, just stays quiet and watches heat shimmer over Ritsu’s expression like a confession all its own with each stroke of Masamune’s touch.

Masamune is aching by the time he slides his fingers free of Ritsu’s body. He’s wanted this too long, been thinking of it for what feels like hours; and there is the desperation that always grips him, when Ritsu is involved, that seems to pull at some core component of his identity to urge him to be closer, to claim more, to press together until there is no space left between them for anything but the utmost honesty of instinctive desire. He braces his hand at the mattress over Ritsu’s shoulder, supporting himself and steadying the other at once, and Ritsu turns his head up to meet Masamune’s gaze as their bodies fit together. Ritsu’s lashes are still heavy, his gaze still melting out of focus, but Masamune can see Ritsu’s attention drift over his face, lingering at the shape of his jaw and the line of his nose and the set of his lips like he’s wandering himself backwards in time, following Masamune’s features into their shared history. Masamune watches Ritsu looking at him, drinking in the attention in the other’s face as Ritsu considers him, until those hazy green eyes lift back to meet his own. Then he leans down, ducking his head to match his lips to the give of Ritsu’s, and he holds them close as he rocks his hips forward to sink himself into the grip of Ritsu’s body beneath him. Ritsu’s fingers clench at his hair, Ritsu’s thighs brace against his hips, and Masamune draws away, freeing Ritsu’s mouth as he rocks himself through a slow thrust. Ritsu groans with the motion, spilling the sound for Masamune’s hearing as his body tightens and eases with reflexive pleasure, and Masamune presses his forehead to Ritsu’s shoulder and curves his arm under the arch of the other’s back to brace them together as he works himself deep into Ritsu beneath him.

Masamune can’t see Ritsu’s face, like this. His face is pressing to the other’s shoulder, his vision obscured by the pale skin before him; and his eyes are shut in any case, the distraction of sight stripped by his own volition. He doesn’t need to see; he can feel, and hear, can track Ritsu by the heat rising between them and the line of a slender arm braced around his shoulder to keep them together. Ritsu is panting with each stroke Masamune takes, his voice straining on heat as they move together; his cock is rising in time with the tension in his chest, swelling to urge against the flex of Masamune’s stomach as the other presses close to him. Masamune can breathe Ritsu into his lungs, can fill his mouth with the taste of Ritsu’s skin beneath and against him, and he can feel some tension in him easing, unravelling itself into a contentment almost more than he knows how to bear. There are no walls, like this, no distractions and no bitterness and no uncertainty; just the two of them, drawn as close together as two people can be and breathing the same heat past their lips with every breath. They voice love with every gasping inhale, give it form with each rhythmic thrust that bears Masamune deep inside the space of Ritsu’s body, and Masamune thinks he has never felt as whole as he does right now, with Ritsu’s arms clinging to him and Ritsu’s chest working on the same tidal force of arousal rising in Masamune with each motion he makes.

Ritsu comes again before Masamune does. Masamune can feel the tension building in the body pressing so close to his own, can hear the shallow catch of Ritsu’s breathing sticking higher and brighter in his throat with each thrust. He might hold out longer, without the earlier persuasion of Masamune’s mouth against him; but whatever resistance there might have been in him earlier in the night is entirely absent now, melted away to leave just the bright, beautiful Ritsu that Masamune has remembered with such painful clarity for all these years. There is no pain, now, nothing of the hurt that came with their distance: only Masamune’s body working, flexing with effort so instinctive it seems to form itself from the knot of want in him, and Ritsu arching under him as he clutches desperation at Masamune’s hair. For a moment Masamune is working against the full strength of Ritsu’s anticipation, thrusting to work against the grip of Ritsu tightening around him; then Ritsu sobs a moan, sounding almost startled by his own release, and he spills against Masamune’s stomach and across his own in pulses of heat that leave him heavy with exhausted satisfaction. Masamune gusts an exhale to Ritsu’s shoulder, giving voice to his own secondhand satisfaction, and he keeps moving to work Ritsu through the peak and aftershocks of his orgasm.

It’s only when Ritsu’s arm around his shoulders has eased to heavy comfort that Masamune braces himself into the greater force that will let him claim his own release. Ritsu groans in the back of his throat as Masamune moves over him, a sound from the deepest part of his chest like it’s spilling free of his control on it, but he’s still pliant with pleasure and Masamune doesn’t pull back. He presses closer instead, turning his head to urge his face against the curve of Ritsu’s neck and curling the arm supporting him up to feather his fingers into Ritsu’s hair as he brings them as near together as their bodies will allow. Ritsu is holding to him, arms and legs and body all urging Masamune closer, pulling them tight together, and Masamune’s hands and lips and lungs are full of Ritsu, he’s never going to lose him again -- and Masamune’s hips jolt, his lips part, and he comes, groaning heat against Ritsu’s skin as Ritsu trembles with the force of shared pleasure.

They are both very quiet in the aftermath. Masamune maintains his hold on Ritsu, an arm under the other’s back and the other curving around his head; his elbow is still braced to the sheets but he’s slumped down atop Ritsu to let the weight of his body pin the other to the bed. Some part of Ritsu’s grip on Masamune eased with his second orgasm, enough that Masamune could pull away if he wanted, but Masamune remains right where he is, and Ritsu’s fingers stay wound into his hair in turn. Masamune lies against Ritsu’s neck, feeling his heart pounding in his chest and listening to the heat of Ritsu’s breathing against his ear, until finally Ritsu draws a deep inhale and speaks with some attempt at his usual sharp tone.

“You’re crushing me, you know.” He shifts against the bed as if trying to get free. “You’re too heavy, Takano-san.”

Masamune deliberately slides his elbow up to let his last point of support give way and drop the rest of his weight on top of Ritsu. Ritsu exhales hard at the impact but Masamune doesn’t lift his head. “Do you want me to go?”

Ritsu drags a breath that Masamune can feel strain in his chest so he can heave a heavy sigh. “Does it matter?”

Masamune speaks gently into the curve of Ritsu’s neck. “It matters.”

There is a moment of quiet, silence but for the sound of Ritsu’s strained breathing and Masamune’s easier inhales. Then Ritsu’s fingers shift in Masamune’s hair, his head turns to the side.

“It’s almost dawn anyway,” he grumbles. “There’s no point in you leaving now.”

It’s not the confession Masamune might have hoped for. But he’s learning what affection sounds like, from Ritsu as he is now, and the fingers curling tight into his hair are a clearer answer than any words. Masamune keeps his head down, where Ritsu won’t see his expression, but his smile is warm against Ritsu’s skin, and he hears not a word to protest it.


	4. Sincere

“ _Nn_.” The sound of the breath hissing past Ritsu’s teeth is sharp, clear-edged enough as to be nearly pained. Fingers clutch at Masamune’s hip, nails digging in hard to score paths of red across the other’s skin. “ _Takano-san_.”

“We’ve talked about this,” Masamune says. The words are clear and far less tense than the grate of Ritsu’s breathing pulling taut in his chest; even with pleasure knotting in him with each stroke of his hips, Masamune always finds it easier to lay claim to calm than Ritsu does. That’s something else that hasn’t changed over the years that have passed; Masamune is beginning to think there are more of those than otherwise, whatever he once believed. He slides the arm holding Ritsu’s shoulders back against him into a better hold so he can steady the other as he rocks his hips up and forward for another deliberate thrust. “When are you going to call me by my name, Ritsu?”

Ritsu hisses again, although this time Masamune thinks the cause is more frustration than a moan of repressed pleasure. “I _can’t_ ,” he manages to get out. “You’re my _boss_.”

“I’m not your boss here,” Masamune tells him. “I told you, we leave that at the office.” He spreads his fingers out across the curve of Ritsu’s hip, sliding his thumb across the other’s skin as he hums consideration in the back of his throat. “Although if you ever want to change that agreement, I am more than open to the idea.”

“ _No_ ,” Ritsu grates. “Abso _lutely_ not.”

Masamune hums. “Fine,” he says. “So I’m your boss at Marukawa.” He turns his head so he can huff a breath against the soft tangle of Ritsu’s hair and murmur to the curve of the other’s ear. “We’re not at Marukawa right now.”

Masamune takes another thrust up into Ritsu braced against him. Ritsu arches, pressing hard against the support of Masamune’s arm around him pinning him back from the relief instinct urges him towards; it’s a moment before he can gasp into breath enough to speak. “I should be focusing on...on work right now.”

“Right now I think you should be focusing on what you’re doing,” Masamune says. When he ducks his head he can touch his mouth to the line of Ritsu’s shoulder and fit a kiss against the pale of the other’s skin. “Or who, more specifically.” He rocks himself through another thrust, going slow so he can savor the feel of Ritsu tensing and shuddering around him. “Don’t you think it’s been long enough for you to call me by name?” Ritsu’s fingers grip at Masamune’s hip to dig arcs of red into the other’s skin but he doesn’t answer, and Masamune continues. “I’d think more than a decade would be enough time for you to get used to the idea.”

“I wasn’t thinking about it before,” Ritsu protests. “I was trying to forget about you as much as I could.”

“How did that work out for you?” Ritsu hisses another exhale and Masamune smiles at this reply to his question, however little Ritsu may have wished to give it. He secures his hold around Ritsu’s waist to brace the other steady as he tips his weight back over his hip, moving so he’s supporting the two of them more than curving in around Ritsu lying next to him. Ritsu leans back to follow, pliant with heat however he may snap protest into what spoken answers Masamune can wring from him, and Masamune lifts his foot to brace his heel at the bed as he fits the other between the line of Ritsu’s thighs. He can get better traction on his motion like this, with his body arcing up against Ritsu’s weight over him, and Ritsu’s sharp intake of breath as Masamune thrusts into him says the shift in position is just as appreciable to the other. Masamune lifts his free hand up to Ritsu’s forehead, trailing his fingers through the fall of the other’s hair before he strokes it back, urging Ritsu’s head to tip against the support of his shoulder with the same gesture.

“I already know how you feel about me,” Masamune says calmly. Ritsu tightens against him, his shoulders flexing in time with the clench of his fingers, but Masamune just keeps moving, following the smooth rhythm of his body working into Ritsu’s as he speaks with the same ease with which their bodies always fit together. “I’ve known since you remembered who I was.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Ritsu protests, although the words are weak around the tension of heat closing off his throat. “ _I_ didn’t know how I felt about you then.”

“That’s because you were lying to yourself,” Masamune says with certainty, and Ritsu’s protest falls to the ringing silence that is the closest he ever comes to admitting Masamune’s victory on a point. Masamune smiles and turns his head to press his cheek to Ritsu’s, to borrow some of the heat flushing the other’s skin for his own. “But you know now, don’t you?”

Ritsu doesn’t speak, doesn’t so much as part his lips on the gasp of breathing straining in his chest; but his fingers tighten at Masamune’s hip, digging in for traction for a moment before they ease again, and Masamune takes that as the answer they both know it to be.

“Tell me,” he purrs. “Ritsu. It was so easy for you to say when you didn’t even know me. Sometimes it seemed like the only thing you _could_ say.” Ritsu flushes hot against Masamune’s cheek and Masamune smiles and tips his head to kiss against the line of the other’s jaw. “Just let yourself say it.” He lets his fingers slide through Ritsu’s hair so he can lift them free and down to touch against the set of the other’s lips pressing tight together. “I thought you had learned how to open your mouth by now.”

Ritsu hisses an inhale of embarrassed irritation. “I--!” His words stall on self-consciousness and Masamune takes the opportunity for another thrust deep enough that Ritsu curves against him and spills a moan before he can close his mouth around the sound.

“Close,” Masamune teases. “Keep trying, Ritsu.” He sets his lips against the curve of the other’s ear, close enough that the sound of his breathing must come loud and hot to Ritsu’s hearing. “I love you.” It’s a murmur, a whisper like he’s sharing a secret; Masamune can feel Ritsu’s whole body tense against him, can feel the strain press against his bracing arm and flexing in Ritsu’s thighs around his. Masamune draws his hand down from brushing his fingertips to Ritsu’s mouth so he can secure his forearm over the other’s shoulders and lift his other hand from offering support to reaching for Ritsu’s hips instead. Ritsu jerks at the friction of Masamune’s fingers against him, his cock jumps against Masamune’s grip, but Masamune just closes his hold the tighter to fix his grip steady against the reflexive tremor of arousal in Ritsu’s body against his.

“I love you,” Masamune repeats, a little louder so Ritsu will be able to hear him over the shudder of his breathing, and he drags up over Ritsu’s cock in his hold. Ritsu groans, his thighs tightening to brace hard against Masamune’s between his own, and Masamune angles his knee farther forward and rocks his hips through another stroke to sink himself into the grip of Ritsu’s body around him. “What about you, Ritsu?” Another thrust, another pull to spill Ritsu’s breathing from his lungs to the humid-heat of Masamune’s apartment. “How do you feel about me?”

“I--” Ritsu starts again before he cuts himself off, pressing his lips tight together against the persuasion of Masamune’s fingers stroking over him. His efforts are not wholly successful; Masamune can still hear the whimper of heat in the back of the other’s throat, even if he weren’t able to track Ritsu’s reaction from the feel of the other clenching tight around him. “Sen--” Another break, another pause of enforced silence, this one so long Masamune wonders if Ritsu means to come without opening his lips to set free anything further. Masamune stays quiet, letting his own expectation weight persuasion to Ritsu’s tongue, letting his fingers do what speaking he needs in the moment, and when Ritsu’s breath spills free from him it comes with the mumble of a name familiar to Masamune’s ear.

Masamune tightens his arm around Ritsu’s shoulders to pull the other closer against him, fixes his grip harder around Ritsu’s cock braced steady in his hold. “What was that?”

Ritsu hisses and ducks his head away. “You heard me.” 

“I didn’t,” Masamune insists. “Say it again.” Ritsu whimpers in the back of his throat and Masamune turns his head to kiss Ritsu’s cheek, the line of his jaw, the curve of his throat. “Say my name again, Ritsu.”

“You _did_ hear,” Ritsu protests, but there’s no true resistance on the words, and Masamune can feel the heat of surrender easing Ritsu’s body back against his own, even if Ritsu hasn’t yet made sense of what he’s feeling. It’s in the angle of his thighs softening, in the hunch of his shoulders unfolding from their desperate curl, even in the sound of his breathing drawing deeper now that he’s let free the words that have been so choking him for so long. “You’re always so pushy, Ma--Masamune.”

Masamune groans in the back of his throat and moves hard, meeting the sound of his name on Ritsu’s lips with the force of his hips thrusting deep enough that Ritsu arches and gasps. “Yes,” he says, agreement and encouragement spilling liquid-hot from his lips as he braces Ritsu against him, as he pulls the other back to press closer to the support of his chest. Ritsu surrenders to Masamune’s pull, rocking himself back to lie heavy against the resistance of Masamune behind him; his fingers at Masamune’s wrist tighten but it’s to steady instead of to pull away, like he’s seeking traction for himself against the wave of heat Masamune can feel cresting over them both. “And how do you feel about me?” Ritsu hisses over his inhale, his teeth fixing tight together in instinctive resistance, but Masamune flexes his fingers and works his wrist and Ritsu’s tension spends itself, the strain in his throat breaking into a moan instead. Masamune turns his head in and shuts his eyes, blocking out vision to surround himself with the sound of Ritsu’s breathing, and the feel of his hair, and the heat drawing taut in and around him as Ritsu’s body trembles with the friction Masamune offers.

“I,” Ritsu says, his voice breaking wide and desperate as Masamune strokes pleasure over him, as Masamune holds them as close together as he can bring them. “You--” Masamune’s hand slides and Ritsu’s thigh flexes, his knee shifting to lock against the pressure of heat in him. Masamune can hear the breath he draws; Masamune can feel the press of it against him, as Ritsu’s chest works on the pressure of anticipation.

“I,” Ritsu says, struggling over the word; and then, in a rush, “I love you, Masamune.” The words tumble free of his lips, so easily it’s hard to believe it’s been a decade that Masamune has gone without them, hard to believe how tightly Ritsu has fought back the relief of giving them voice. Masamune can feel some great tension in him ease, like a knot around his heart loosening to fall free at last, and against him Ritsu shudders, and moans, and comes as if his confession was the last resistance to his release. Masamune feels the full force of Ritsu’s orgasm against him, as Ritsu surrenders the waves of pleasure in him to Masamune’s hold, and Masamune’s own breath catches to a groan in his chest, his cock jumps with a surge of heat to answer Ritsu’s own.

“Ritsu,” Masamune says, his voice dragged to a growl by the force of arousal rising to the strength of a demand, and his hips jolt forward of their own accord to claim his own pleasure from the quivering force of Ritsu’s around him. Ritsu whimpers over a breath, clinging to Masamune like he’s the only thing holding him to reality, and Masamune takes him, claiming Ritsu’s body and pleasure and love with all the need their years apart have created in him. Ritsu’s breathing is catching, his thighs trembling against Masamune’s, his fingers seizing at Masamune’s wrist, and Masamune can hear love in every gasp in Ritsu’s lungs, can feel it in every shudder of sensation in the other’s body. He tips his head down, gasps a breath against the heat of Ritsu’s skin, and then he lets himself go, giving himself over to the heat of Ritsu’s body as surely as Ritsu handed himself to the support of Masamune’s. His orgasm breaks over him, tightening his chest and spilling through his cock and curling in his toes; and Masamune holds Ritsu against him, and offers up everything he has ever had for the other’s keeping.

Masamune draws back into himself later, after the wave of orgasm and the tremors of aftershocks have spent themselves to leave him breathless and trembling where he and Ritsu are lying against the bed. Ritsu is utterly slack against him; what tension he collects to armor himself during the day is drained away, worked free by Masamune’s body against his own until there is nothing but heavy-limbed surrender in the whole line of him. Masamune eases his hold on Ritsu’s cock, drawing his fingers free to settle against the other’s waist with gentle affection; Ritsu’s hold on his wrist lingers, the desperate grip gone soft as a caress with the aftereffects of pleasure. Masamune lifts his head from Ritsu’s shoulder, raising his chin so he can press a kiss just under Ritsu’s ear before he speaks in a murmur. “I love you.”

Ritsu shudders over a sigh, as if setting free some last fragment of strain. His hand at Masamune’s wrist slides up across the back of the other’s hand; when Masamune turns his palm up Ritsu’s fingers find their way between his own. Ritsu hesitates for a moment, his fingers interlaced with Masamune’s; then he tightens his hold, his grip curling to cling to Masamune’s hand with determination. Masamune’s chest aches, his breath catches, and he tightens his own hold in answer to Ritsu’s intensity, fixing their hands tight together as he pulls Ritsu flush against his chest. Ritsu curls to fit against him, giving way as quickly as Masamune urges, and Masamune smiles against the soft of Ritsu’s hair and lets the sound of their hearts beating in time with each other echo the proof of their words.


End file.
